My prayer life is average at best. I pray daily, but it's not a significantly meaningful experience. I spend more time writing emails or scribing little notes to my boyfriend than I do in prayer.
I wish that wasn't true.
But that can change.
This morning, I interviewed a man who would literally pause our conversation to pray. Sometimes I wouldn't know if he was talking to me or the Lord. Maybe both at times. But he would apologize to God during a prayer to ask me a question, or ask me to pause so he could pray for God to guide his next answer.
It was like nothing I had ever experienced. It was a life totally focused on the fact that we were created to glorify and worship a holy God and for him to know us and for us to know him. That only comes through prayer. And I've known strong prayer warriors in my life. But Colin was like no one else I had ever met.
He was so in tune with Christ, so aware of what the Lord was telling him. It was unreal. Where I am always hesitant to even ask for something because I'm scared of the word "no," Colin treats Jesus like they're best friends. And, frankly, they probably are. How could you not be when you spoke that often?
It's mind blowing.
And I want it.
What if we all lived like that? Not just an emphasis on prayer, but totally revolved our minds and hearts around the idea that we are in constant communication with Christ? What would that even look like?
Insane. Totally abnormal. In a world that moves too fast, cares too little about others, and focuses too much on ourselves, a switch to constantly and fearlessly communicating with someone who may not respond quickly or with what we want is less than ideal.
But I've found that the waiting is an answer, and the more you try to listen, the more you hear. I am confident that this is a life that I want. To be closer with Christ in a way that I've only ever heard about but never seen firsthand. Prayer is vital to knowing the Creator. And knowing him brings me closer to him, and being closer to him helps me reflect him.
And that's what we were made for.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Monday, June 8, 2015
Finding something to lean on
Great news, everyone: Keurig's are remarkably easy to use, and I have only spilled coffee out of my travel cup once in the last three weeks. I would say that's a pretty good track record.
And while mornings are still the worst, I'm quickly learning the value of getting up and getting the day started. That's not to say that I even remotely like mornings, but they aren't the blindingly miserable experiences I held them to be in my undergrad years.
Because I'm just so far past those four years. Right.
The wear and tear of waking up early, not living with my best friends, my boyfriend being across the ocean, and my body's recent requirement of going to bed at ten have sharply reminded me that my physical, emotional, and spiritual needs were wrapped up in my circumstances.
College Station, as wonderful as it is, was a nicely packaged deal for me where I was taken care of and people were always available and no one was more than 5 minutes away (three of the most important ones either shared a room or a house with me). But that is a rarity. Something that I absolutely took for granted, and will inevitably take for granted again when I move back in the fall.
My reliance on Rachel, Myles, Joy, and Hayden was never more keenly felt than when they were in Austin, Mexico, New York, and Greece. Myles is the only one I'll be able to see somewhat often this summer--and we're still a 30 minute drive from each other.
And I know that this time is a teaching one. I am prone to being swayed and moved, my steps unsteady and my balance off. I've never been confident in my ability to stand on my own two feet, but the beauty of the unsteadiness is that I don't have to stand alone.
Leaning more into the Lord is the only option. And while I could wish all day for me to be able to do this summer, this next year, this next lifetime only relying on my own abilities, I know that isn't plausible. So it's with a good dose of humility that I accept the hand reached out to me, and go from there.
And while mornings are still the worst, I'm quickly learning the value of getting up and getting the day started. That's not to say that I even remotely like mornings, but they aren't the blindingly miserable experiences I held them to be in my undergrad years.
Because I'm just so far past those four years. Right.
The wear and tear of waking up early, not living with my best friends, my boyfriend being across the ocean, and my body's recent requirement of going to bed at ten have sharply reminded me that my physical, emotional, and spiritual needs were wrapped up in my circumstances.
College Station, as wonderful as it is, was a nicely packaged deal for me where I was taken care of and people were always available and no one was more than 5 minutes away (three of the most important ones either shared a room or a house with me). But that is a rarity. Something that I absolutely took for granted, and will inevitably take for granted again when I move back in the fall.
My reliance on Rachel, Myles, Joy, and Hayden was never more keenly felt than when they were in Austin, Mexico, New York, and Greece. Myles is the only one I'll be able to see somewhat often this summer--and we're still a 30 minute drive from each other.
And I know that this time is a teaching one. I am prone to being swayed and moved, my steps unsteady and my balance off. I've never been confident in my ability to stand on my own two feet, but the beauty of the unsteadiness is that I don't have to stand alone.
Leaning more into the Lord is the only option. And while I could wish all day for me to be able to do this summer, this next year, this next lifetime only relying on my own abilities, I know that isn't plausible. So it's with a good dose of humility that I accept the hand reached out to me, and go from there.
Monday, May 25, 2015
How does a Keurig work? And other thoughts by a new "grown up"
It's been 9 days since I successfully walked the stage and became a former student of Texas A&M University. My ring has been turned around, and now the eagle, like all the other Aggies that have come before me, now stand behind the class of 2015.
Whoop.
I had a week of freedom on a beach in Florida, but tomorrow dawns adulthood. Or something that resembles it.
Somehow, I have found myself at an internship that is 8-5, four days a week. My first thought when I heard that was, "But I don't know how to adult yet." But that 6:30 alarm is going to go off, and I might become a coffee drinker (which means I should figure out the Keurig), and that toll tag is going to ring up a tab, and I have to figure out what a w9 is.
It's the most thrilling, terrifying thing in the world. I mean, I'm wearing makeup and a skirt before the sun rises tomorrow. Who even am I? I need to find a travel mug and learn to like cliff bars. Work is going to come, and the adventure of life with a degree begins. Somehow just waving it around on a stage doesn't mean I will automatically succeed at all jobs. Who knew?
In addition to my four days a week of being a grown up, I'll also be raising support to do ministry in the fall. So that's equal parts scary and exciting. The Lord is faithful to provide, and has far exceeded anything I could've imagined so far. I have no doubt that my finances will be any exception. But if you could keep me in your prayers for that, I would appreciate it.
Now all THAT being said, I will consider this my official announcement of what I'm doing in the fall (Facebook posts aren't my thing anymore). I will be working for Grace Bible Church in College Station doing college ministry with A&M and Blinn students. The Gospel is cool, and I would like to share it.
The world is big, I'm very little, and God is good. He clearly knows what he's doing, and I'm excited (and, you know, unbelievably nervous) to see how this very bright future he has painted continues to pan out.
Good morning, sunrise. You and I will become very familiar with each other, I think.
Whoop.
I had a week of freedom on a beach in Florida, but tomorrow dawns adulthood. Or something that resembles it.
Somehow, I have found myself at an internship that is 8-5, four days a week. My first thought when I heard that was, "But I don't know how to adult yet." But that 6:30 alarm is going to go off, and I might become a coffee drinker (which means I should figure out the Keurig), and that toll tag is going to ring up a tab, and I have to figure out what a w9 is.
It's the most thrilling, terrifying thing in the world. I mean, I'm wearing makeup and a skirt before the sun rises tomorrow. Who even am I? I need to find a travel mug and learn to like cliff bars. Work is going to come, and the adventure of life with a degree begins. Somehow just waving it around on a stage doesn't mean I will automatically succeed at all jobs. Who knew?
In addition to my four days a week of being a grown up, I'll also be raising support to do ministry in the fall. So that's equal parts scary and exciting. The Lord is faithful to provide, and has far exceeded anything I could've imagined so far. I have no doubt that my finances will be any exception. But if you could keep me in your prayers for that, I would appreciate it.
Now all THAT being said, I will consider this my official announcement of what I'm doing in the fall (Facebook posts aren't my thing anymore). I will be working for Grace Bible Church in College Station doing college ministry with A&M and Blinn students. The Gospel is cool, and I would like to share it.
The world is big, I'm very little, and God is good. He clearly knows what he's doing, and I'm excited (and, you know, unbelievably nervous) to see how this very bright future he has painted continues to pan out.
Good morning, sunrise. You and I will become very familiar with each other, I think.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
A House Is Not A Memory Trapper
My roommates are about to spackle some holes in the living room. Myles is loudly singing some old worship song--while beating the wall--and Rachel caught it on film. Neither of them are 100% confident in what they're doing, but they're going to try and nail it (Rachel just noted that it looks like ice cream but warned Myles to not eat it). This is a day in the life of my house.
One of the last days, actually.
I think we all had a mental knowledge of this week's imminent arrival--we're 3 days out from graduation. But all this packing and painting and the living room in disarray is making the reality, the emotions of the situation, extraordinarily real.
We're doing a good job of making memories and choosing to ignore the goodbyes. Myles and Rachel have turned on "The Wobble" in the living room. Myles has changed the lyrics to, "Hey big girl, go ahead and spackle up."
The picture frames are off the shelves. The sofa is gone. Myles is sleeping on an air mattress. The kitchen has been divided up on a Google doc. It's all changing. This comfy, 1100 square foot little house has been part of many memories. We've had dance parties and crying sessions in the living room. It was a sleepover for two years. It was not without its own faults, and it saw many faults of its residents.
It would be ridiculous to say that this house is just a house, but it will be moved out of and cleaned and readied for the next round of people. It is not immune to wear and tear, nor is it fully prepared for future residents. The house is the holder of memories.
But thankfully memories are not trapped within where they were made. They may be more potent there, feel like they are happening again around you, have strong reminders of what happened. But unlike this house, which will stay planted (however unsteadily based on some foundation issues we've noticed), I get to go.
All the moments where I laughed so hard I cried, where we talked through or quoted movies, threw birthday parties, rearranged, rearranged again, talked out a problem, hugged out the resolution and then made our way out with called "I love you"'s over our shoulders.
I want to say that I hope to find friends like these again, and a place to hold those future memories, but that would require replacing Joy, Myles, and Rachel (and, like, not moving ever). And I think they're one of a kind. While I aspire for close-knit friendships in the future, I know that these women are pretty irreplaceable. And friendships I will maintain until death do we part.
Andy Bernard, in the last episode of The Office, said "I wish we knew we were in the good ole days before we left them."
Initially, I'm inclined to agree with him. But I refuse to believe that this house is the single manifestation of the "good ole days" and that leaving it signifies that the best time of my life is ending. I'm 23. I have a lot of life to live. I think that the rest of my life, however long it is, will be rich with goodness.
No, my nonexistent readers (it would be pompous to assume anyone besides my parents reads this), I am confident that the last beautiful, growing, hard, hilarious four years have been but a glimpse of the life still yet to live.
One of the last days, actually.
I think we all had a mental knowledge of this week's imminent arrival--we're 3 days out from graduation. But all this packing and painting and the living room in disarray is making the reality, the emotions of the situation, extraordinarily real.
We're doing a good job of making memories and choosing to ignore the goodbyes. Myles and Rachel have turned on "The Wobble" in the living room. Myles has changed the lyrics to, "Hey big girl, go ahead and spackle up."
The picture frames are off the shelves. The sofa is gone. Myles is sleeping on an air mattress. The kitchen has been divided up on a Google doc. It's all changing. This comfy, 1100 square foot little house has been part of many memories. We've had dance parties and crying sessions in the living room. It was a sleepover for two years. It was not without its own faults, and it saw many faults of its residents.
It would be ridiculous to say that this house is just a house, but it will be moved out of and cleaned and readied for the next round of people. It is not immune to wear and tear, nor is it fully prepared for future residents. The house is the holder of memories.
But thankfully memories are not trapped within where they were made. They may be more potent there, feel like they are happening again around you, have strong reminders of what happened. But unlike this house, which will stay planted (however unsteadily based on some foundation issues we've noticed), I get to go.
All the moments where I laughed so hard I cried, where we talked through or quoted movies, threw birthday parties, rearranged, rearranged again, talked out a problem, hugged out the resolution and then made our way out with called "I love you"'s over our shoulders.
I want to say that I hope to find friends like these again, and a place to hold those future memories, but that would require replacing Joy, Myles, and Rachel (and, like, not moving ever). And I think they're one of a kind. While I aspire for close-knit friendships in the future, I know that these women are pretty irreplaceable. And friendships I will maintain until death do we part.
Andy Bernard, in the last episode of The Office, said "I wish we knew we were in the good ole days before we left them."
Initially, I'm inclined to agree with him. But I refuse to believe that this house is the single manifestation of the "good ole days" and that leaving it signifies that the best time of my life is ending. I'm 23. I have a lot of life to live. I think that the rest of my life, however long it is, will be rich with goodness.
No, my nonexistent readers (it would be pompous to assume anyone besides my parents reads this), I am confident that the last beautiful, growing, hard, hilarious four years have been but a glimpse of the life still yet to live.
Saturday, May 9, 2015
6
On this day in 2009, my grandfather passed away. He was the first, and remains the only, close family member I've lost. To consider myself blessed in that regard would be a colossal understatement. To say that the loss was not a difficult one, however, would be a lie.
In one week, I will become a former student of Texas A&M University. If we want to get specific, we're 6 days and 22 hours away. My grandfather, Papa, attended A&M for a time in the early 1950's, and while he graduated from that hippie school in Austin (hisssss), I never saw him cheer against the Ags--even on Thanksgiving. I am proud to be in the fourth generation of Aggies of my family. I wish he could see me walk (or, uh, maybe trip) across the stage, but the fact that he walked the university before me is more than comforting.
It's incredible to see aspects of him sprinkled around my family. The helpful hand went to my aunt. The outdoorsman to my uncles. The quick smile (and stubbornness) to my mom. The love of music to my brother. The eager to laugh to my sister. The high level of intellect to my cousin Haley. The love of family to Holly. The adventurous spirits (and blue eyes) to Lacey and Parker. The tan skin and love of competition to Emily and Caroline. The rough-and-tumble attitude to Morgan (adopted or not, she picked up some things from the old man). The love of books to me. Of course, everyone got a little of everything. Some are more stubborn than others, some with a bit more wanderlust than others.
But in our cores, we know where we came from. We know that this baritone-voiced man who ate all our Cheetos eagerly loved us, constantly cared for our grandmother, and made our parents who they were.
I mean really, he filled up Nanny's car with gas for 50 years because she spilled it on herself one time. He took care of his own.
This passion to serve was a product of the way he served the Lord. I'm in the middle of a pack of 10 grandchildren--8 of them are girls. It would've been easy for me to blend in, to remain unnoticed because I was quiet and didn't draw attention to myself. But every time I saw Papa, he brought me a book or a Land Before Time Movie. He knew Linley.
Birthdays just aren't as fun without that sweet, low voice singing to me. Holidays always lack something without him 1. falling asleep in front of the fire/TV or 2. regaling us with stories. He was the love of my grandmother's life. The standard of man for my cousin and brother to look up to and for my cousins and me to look for. The best kind of father to my mom and aunt and uncles.
He leaves a legacy of love, of the importance of Christ, of the necessity of good food.
I hope to follow suit.
In honor of Jesse Don Lyles, September 19, 1933--May 9, 2009.
In one week, I will become a former student of Texas A&M University. If we want to get specific, we're 6 days and 22 hours away. My grandfather, Papa, attended A&M for a time in the early 1950's, and while he graduated from that hippie school in Austin (hisssss), I never saw him cheer against the Ags--even on Thanksgiving. I am proud to be in the fourth generation of Aggies of my family. I wish he could see me walk (or, uh, maybe trip) across the stage, but the fact that he walked the university before me is more than comforting.
It's incredible to see aspects of him sprinkled around my family. The helpful hand went to my aunt. The outdoorsman to my uncles. The quick smile (and stubbornness) to my mom. The love of music to my brother. The eager to laugh to my sister. The high level of intellect to my cousin Haley. The love of family to Holly. The adventurous spirits (and blue eyes) to Lacey and Parker. The tan skin and love of competition to Emily and Caroline. The rough-and-tumble attitude to Morgan (adopted or not, she picked up some things from the old man). The love of books to me. Of course, everyone got a little of everything. Some are more stubborn than others, some with a bit more wanderlust than others.
But in our cores, we know where we came from. We know that this baritone-voiced man who ate all our Cheetos eagerly loved us, constantly cared for our grandmother, and made our parents who they were.
I mean really, he filled up Nanny's car with gas for 50 years because she spilled it on herself one time. He took care of his own.
This passion to serve was a product of the way he served the Lord. I'm in the middle of a pack of 10 grandchildren--8 of them are girls. It would've been easy for me to blend in, to remain unnoticed because I was quiet and didn't draw attention to myself. But every time I saw Papa, he brought me a book or a Land Before Time Movie. He knew Linley.
Birthdays just aren't as fun without that sweet, low voice singing to me. Holidays always lack something without him 1. falling asleep in front of the fire/TV or 2. regaling us with stories. He was the love of my grandmother's life. The standard of man for my cousin and brother to look up to and for my cousins and me to look for. The best kind of father to my mom and aunt and uncles.
He leaves a legacy of love, of the importance of Christ, of the necessity of good food.
I hope to follow suit.
In honor of Jesse Don Lyles, September 19, 1933--May 9, 2009.
Monday, April 20, 2015
The Final Few
I graduate from Texas A&M University in 25 days, 22 hours, and 31 minutes. But who's counting?
Truthfully, I couldn't even tell you if I'm excited to graduate or not. Because the idea of no longer being a student and not having to take tests is a thrilling idea. But I think I would willingly take a test every day for an indefinite amount of time if that meant I don't have to say goodbye to some of the people who are going to be rolling out in May.
The nostalgia is so, so real.
25 days, 22 hours, 21 minutes.
For some reason, it feels exponentially more difficult to resolve myself to the fact that college is ending than it was for high school. Maybe because high school was not my thing. But being with the people I was with here, in College Station, and the things I had to learn and go through just makes this weird little city seem far more significant than anything else I've ever experienced. These were my formative years. My years where I figured out how to love well, how to do laundry, how to say yes (and how to say no), how to form my own opinions, how to do confrontation well, how to change the battery of a smoke detector. How to make my walk with Christ a priority.
Now I'm sitting at work and trying not to cry.
25 days, 22 hours, 17 minutes.
What have I even done with these four years. I could categorize it by the music I listened to, the shows I watched. The things I was involved in. The clothes that I wore. The friends who came in and stayed or the ones that just passed through. The influential people. The people I didn't 100% get along with. All two of the guys I dated. The places I lived. The jobs I had. The classes I took. The struggles I faced. The themes of each semester.
It's all a blur. But when I take a minute to slow down, to breathe, to sit back, I see a small part of a picture. I am not the same Linley who walked into Krueger 415 with a thousand expectations and few life experiences. I will walk out of my little house on Fairview with a thousand experiences that form one big statement:
I will inevitably fail at most things, but the Lord is a good Father who tends to me in all situations.
25 days, 22 hours, 10 minutes.
Yes, this post is disgustingly sappy and dramatic and reflective. I promise that there is part of me that is pretty grossed out by the whole thing.
And yes, I am staying in College Station for another year. But 75% of the people I've come to know and love during my time here will not. Most are staying in Texas. One is going to New York. Another to Seattle. Still another one to India.
No one tells you how hard senior year is. How stressful. How utterly terrifying. But if the Lord chooses for the rest of my life to be half as incredible as the last 4 years were, I think I'll be okay.
25 days, 22 hours, 1 minute.
Truthfully, I couldn't even tell you if I'm excited to graduate or not. Because the idea of no longer being a student and not having to take tests is a thrilling idea. But I think I would willingly take a test every day for an indefinite amount of time if that meant I don't have to say goodbye to some of the people who are going to be rolling out in May.
The nostalgia is so, so real.
25 days, 22 hours, 21 minutes.
For some reason, it feels exponentially more difficult to resolve myself to the fact that college is ending than it was for high school. Maybe because high school was not my thing. But being with the people I was with here, in College Station, and the things I had to learn and go through just makes this weird little city seem far more significant than anything else I've ever experienced. These were my formative years. My years where I figured out how to love well, how to do laundry, how to say yes (and how to say no), how to form my own opinions, how to do confrontation well, how to change the battery of a smoke detector. How to make my walk with Christ a priority.
Now I'm sitting at work and trying not to cry.
25 days, 22 hours, 17 minutes.
What have I even done with these four years. I could categorize it by the music I listened to, the shows I watched. The things I was involved in. The clothes that I wore. The friends who came in and stayed or the ones that just passed through. The influential people. The people I didn't 100% get along with. All two of the guys I dated. The places I lived. The jobs I had. The classes I took. The struggles I faced. The themes of each semester.
It's all a blur. But when I take a minute to slow down, to breathe, to sit back, I see a small part of a picture. I am not the same Linley who walked into Krueger 415 with a thousand expectations and few life experiences. I will walk out of my little house on Fairview with a thousand experiences that form one big statement:
I will inevitably fail at most things, but the Lord is a good Father who tends to me in all situations.
25 days, 22 hours, 10 minutes.
Yes, this post is disgustingly sappy and dramatic and reflective. I promise that there is part of me that is pretty grossed out by the whole thing.
And yes, I am staying in College Station for another year. But 75% of the people I've come to know and love during my time here will not. Most are staying in Texas. One is going to New York. Another to Seattle. Still another one to India.
No one tells you how hard senior year is. How stressful. How utterly terrifying. But if the Lord chooses for the rest of my life to be half as incredible as the last 4 years were, I think I'll be okay.
25 days, 22 hours, 1 minute.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
The New Testament (a historical look)
Amidst all the chaos for planning for the future, I actually have classes that I go to. Being a graduating senior allows for certain perks, like taking 9 hours and being considered a full time student. And having 3 of those hours being online. Yeah, I'm only on campus for a few hours on Tuesday and Thursday. It is as wonderful as it sounds.
My final 9 hours allowed me to take any two communication classes that I wanted, and any other random credit of my choosing. So I chose to take a class on the New Testament.
On the first day of class, my professor walked in, introduced himself, and then promptly announced that he was unafraid to offend and hoped that what we learned in class challenged our beliefs. And rather than sinking down in my seat or looking up other classes to take, my first thought was, "Okay, let's see then."
Honestly, the class hasn't done anything to challenge my beliefs in Christ, or the validity of the Bible, or any other part of my faith. It's kind of done the opposite. All the historical context of when the latter half of the Bible was written is ridiculously interesting. For a 75 minute class, which is normally torture for my short attention span, I rarely look at my watch.
My professor is quirky, and extremely intelligent. He lays out the information objectively (he goes to an Eastern Orthodox church) and it is so clear that he knows what he's talking about. Maybe he's been giving his best efforts to try and dissuade me from my beliefs, but it really has been more affirming than anything.
And it's pretty cool to get historical meaning for who the Pharisees actually were, and how Herod came into power, and how the Bible itself was formed. It's given me context for how important the Temple was, how radical Jesus was, and why different groups reacted the way that they did. And, beyond that, how people reacted after Jesus ascended to Heaven. He made big waves, you guys. The world was immediately changed as people tried to figure out who He was, as Paul and the disciples spread the news around.
A big thing that we focused on the first two weeks of class was about the potential errors of the Bible. Which I get where the argument is coming from--the printing press didn't exist in 60CE, and people had to copy Scripture somehow. Scribes copied and translated and sent out texts. Errors were bound to be made. And, admittedly, there were moments were I did wonder how we could believe what has been copied countless times.
But here's the thing: my God is vastly larger than human error. Jesus died on the cross and then raised from the dead to prove that he was much, much more powerful than any mistake humans could ever make. The point is that no, we do not have the absolute original writings of Mark. But I am confident that the Lord would not let his messages be changed by typos.
I have my first test in that class tomorrow, and while it is a ton of information, it is not information I am uninterested in. I'm a history nerd. I'm learning about the New Testament. And I'm seeing how faithful the Lord is to move through thousands of years. I think, in my last semester of college, I have found one of my favorite classes.
My final 9 hours allowed me to take any two communication classes that I wanted, and any other random credit of my choosing. So I chose to take a class on the New Testament.
On the first day of class, my professor walked in, introduced himself, and then promptly announced that he was unafraid to offend and hoped that what we learned in class challenged our beliefs. And rather than sinking down in my seat or looking up other classes to take, my first thought was, "Okay, let's see then."
Honestly, the class hasn't done anything to challenge my beliefs in Christ, or the validity of the Bible, or any other part of my faith. It's kind of done the opposite. All the historical context of when the latter half of the Bible was written is ridiculously interesting. For a 75 minute class, which is normally torture for my short attention span, I rarely look at my watch.
My professor is quirky, and extremely intelligent. He lays out the information objectively (he goes to an Eastern Orthodox church) and it is so clear that he knows what he's talking about. Maybe he's been giving his best efforts to try and dissuade me from my beliefs, but it really has been more affirming than anything.
And it's pretty cool to get historical meaning for who the Pharisees actually were, and how Herod came into power, and how the Bible itself was formed. It's given me context for how important the Temple was, how radical Jesus was, and why different groups reacted the way that they did. And, beyond that, how people reacted after Jesus ascended to Heaven. He made big waves, you guys. The world was immediately changed as people tried to figure out who He was, as Paul and the disciples spread the news around.
A big thing that we focused on the first two weeks of class was about the potential errors of the Bible. Which I get where the argument is coming from--the printing press didn't exist in 60CE, and people had to copy Scripture somehow. Scribes copied and translated and sent out texts. Errors were bound to be made. And, admittedly, there were moments were I did wonder how we could believe what has been copied countless times.
But here's the thing: my God is vastly larger than human error. Jesus died on the cross and then raised from the dead to prove that he was much, much more powerful than any mistake humans could ever make. The point is that no, we do not have the absolute original writings of Mark. But I am confident that the Lord would not let his messages be changed by typos.
I have my first test in that class tomorrow, and while it is a ton of information, it is not information I am uninterested in. I'm a history nerd. I'm learning about the New Testament. And I'm seeing how faithful the Lord is to move through thousands of years. I think, in my last semester of college, I have found one of my favorite classes.
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